


Whiskey

by Mister_Spock



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22805686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mister_Spock/pseuds/Mister_Spock
Summary: Charles helps out Hawkeye in his own way.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by major-charlie who wanted a story featuring Charles and Hawkeye, including the word buddy/buddies and to be happy. :) Hope you like it, lovely. :)

Peace and quiet.

It was the main thing Charles noticed whenever Pierce was absent from the room or tent, or in this case, camp.  
Battalion Aid was under heavy fire, as it seemed to be a lot recently, and Hawkeye's turn had come to go upfront.

Of course, it always sent Hunnicutt into a mess of nerves whenever his tent mate was absent, but he'd offered to help Margaret with some supplies to keep himself busy.

And then the peace and quiet ended as a Jeep pulled up in camp and Charles spotted the wayward surgeon climb out and head over to the office. Charles expected him to go and find Hunnicutt but was surprised when he saw Pierce heading towards the Swamp.

Hawkeye lumbered in, dropping his helmet on top of his footlocker and unceremoniously dropped himself across his cot.

"Not going to find your buddy, Pierce?"

"Later," he said, curtly.

Winchester looked across to his bunkmate, the flat tone in his voice. He sounded tired. Deeply. "Bad up there?"

"Worse I've seen it," Hawkeye replied in the same tone, all the while, his eyes remained closed.

Charles wondered briefly how many times Pierce had been up to Battalion Aid since he'd been here but he kept the thought to himself. If his bunkmate was in a funk, he hardly needed to be reminded about how rough he'd had it. Of course, they could all have it worse. Being assigned to Battalion Aid would be much, much worse.

Charles looked back over to his bunkmate, who was staring blankly to the top of their tent. They'd all been there. Exhausted but unable to sleep.

Turning to the desk he sat at, Charles pulled out another glass and poured two drinks. "Pierce, I wonder if you would," he said indicating to the glass in his hand as he moved over towards Hawkeye's bunk, sitting on Hunnicutt's empty cot. "My father sent this bottle and while it's supposed to be a rather sought after year, I'm not really sure it's as good as they say. Would you…"

Hawkeye sat up, tiredly, his body a little stiff but taking the offered glass. He took a sniff, a habit that drove Hunnicutt crazy if the number of times he mentioned it was any indication but strangely didn't bother Charles so much. "I'm not sure my taste buds will appreciate this, Charles. They've been ravaged by the taste of war," Hawkeye said, eyeing the still. But he sipped and the taste of the drink was better than he'd anticipated. "Tastes divine to me," Hawkeye mused.

"Really?" Charles said, taking another mouthful of his own and looking surprised by the taste. "Maybe it is my taste that has been ravaged here." He held the bottle out, refiling Hawkeye's glass.

In truth, the whisky was as good as Hawkeye said it was. But he knew if he approached the other man with a drink and he thought it was offered in sympathy or pity, or whatever else, he would reject it. Charles found the man a bit of a puzzle-like that.  
He also knew that the mood of this place could drag you down from time to time and as much as he might be at odds with Pierce now and again, he also knew that it was his responsibility as much as the next man's to help another when he was in need of it.

As much as he hated to admit it when Pierce was quiet and withdrawn the camp suffered for it.  
He's loud, obnoxious behaviour was almost part of the camp, as much as Margaret's shrill orders, Potter's mare or Hunnicutt's pranks.  
It helped make this camp what it was. Not perfect, but they were damn close to it.  
And if a bottle of whisky helped get that obnoxious jerk back on his feet, then it was a cost that Charles could easily endure.


End file.
